Volatile Memory
by SadArticle
Summary: Classic Knight Rider. Second season episode 'Knightmares', from Kitt's perspective. Michael turns his back on the Foundation after losing his memory, but Kitt won't let him walk away.


_When you're not even yourself, I am on your side_

_- Keep This Fire Burning, Beverley Knight_

What would become of him if Michael never regained his memory? Kitt waited on the circular drive in front of the Foundation building, resisting the temptation to eavesdrop via the security system, and only hoped that Devon and April could help his friend. His own performance had been less than optimal, he acknowledged – April had programmed him to seek Michael and return him to the Foundation, but neither of them had expected any real resistance. Kitt had actually had to _chase_ him, matching Michael's vault over an obstacle with a Turbo-boost of his own, before trapping his partner at the end of a blind alley; the flash of terror on Michael's face when he saw the car bearing down upon him was still stored in Kitt's RAM, a stark indicator of their now precarious future together.

The first words that Michael had ever spoken in his presence, though not specifically directed at the computer, had been 'I'll never trust anybody again'. Kitt accessed a memory that was now over a year old, viewing his partner – the purpose of his existence – for the first time. Coming online, presumably activated by Mr Miles in the passenger seat, Kitt had found himself outside the R+D building with a stranger behind the wheel. Not only that, but the car's sensors were telling him that he had already been involved in a collision, a fact confirmed after a brief survey of the shattered metal door behind him. Kitt had scanned the madman at the controls, silently assessing his physical status: a racing pulse and increased respiratory rate were indicative of stress or fear, which the microprocessor attributed to having just driven through the side of a building, but outwardly his driver had appeared calm and confident. Michael's easy handling of the powerful car on its very first test run had been impressive, monitored by an unusually passive computer who wished to take his own measure of the man assigned to be his partner. The car obviously satisfied Michael, but he had yet to fully comprehend all of its capabilities – how could he, after half an hour on the road? When Michael floored the Knight 2000, announcing that he was about to 'put this thing to the test', both Kitt and Devon Miles had risen to the challenge.

_The truck was still miles away, and Kitt had been monitoring its position even before it came into view on the horizon, but at Michael's chosen speed they would be tailgating the vehicle in minutes. The Collision Avoidance program would take over soon, steering them to safety with the urgency of human reflex and the precision of a computer, yet Kitt recognised in the obstacle an opportunity to prove his own worth. Overriding the sequence, he allowed Michael to drive up to the truck until all they could see was the backside of the trailer. 'I don't believe this,' his driver was telling Devon, 'I'm playing chicken with a ten-ton semi!' Michael slowed, then, and edged the car towards the centre line, holding back a good car length from the truck. Kitt knew immediately what he planned to do. Taking control, Kitt accelerated into a tight yet graceful turn, steering the car between the body of the truck and the gravel shoulder of the road, and slipped just as sharply back into lane. With a last push on the gas, he carried them a safe distance from the receding bulk of the semi, and then returned the car to 'Normal cruise'. Pleased with an exceptional display of his own proficiency, Kitt did not expect to hear Michael shouting at Devon in a tone of alarm. 'The car just drove around the truck!' he was saying. 'It steered itself!' Mr Miles was apparently delighted with Kitt's impromptu demonstration, but the one opinion that really made a difference to Kitt was less than encouraging: 'I hate it! I like to make my own decisions'._

Reviewing their history, Kitt struggled to align Michael's initial cynicism and his own inexperience with how closely they now worked as a team. Had one unfortunate accident set them back at 'square one', and lost him the trust and friendship of his pilot, partner and friend? Their first mission together had been a sharp learning curve for the computer, but for Kitt the reward was in finally earning Michael's care and respect. He was quite prepared to endure humiliating races, car thieves and police impounds, facing each and every occupational hazard with his own brand of dignity, because Michael relied on him and needed him. It made no difference to the computer that his partner's memory was now corrupted, perhaps irretrievably – Kitt's dominant program did not make allowances for the fallibility of human nature, and he would stay at Michael's side whether he wanted him there or not.

Lost in his own processing, Kitt did not detect that Michael was approaching until he was within normal scanner range. He had not been issued with a direct command to go into surveillance mode, nor was an increase in security usually necessary on his own doorstep, but he was supposed to be looking out for his partner.

Michael was heading towards him with his head bowed, and Kitt started his engine in anticipation. Experience and familiarity had taught the computer to expect one of two reactions: either Michael would smile and greet him, or Kitt should have the door open for Michael to jump straight in and supply him with his next instructions. The only distinction was whether or not they were on official business at the time.

"Michael!" Kitt called over the car's external speakers. "Where are we going?"

Without stopping, and far from smiling, Michael gave the car a wide berth and carried on down the drive. Kitt switched to a different visual feed and watched the tall figure of his partner stalking off without him. Where did he think he was going? Had he called a taxi? Waiting until Michael was out of his line of sight, but following his progress with his other sensors, Kitt started the car and swung sharply around to follow him.

"Michael, please!" He automatically opened a channel to the comlink, and then realised that Michael wasn't wearing his receiver. Surely April could have provided him with a replacement? Kitt activated his voice projection system instead. "Michael!"

Hearing his name, Michael stopped and turned. He gave the car a black look, but then took a step towards its prow. With a narrowed glance at the trailing scanner, he stooped to lean his hands on the hood. "You won, you got me here. Now _back off_," he snapped, addressing the windshield.

Idling in neutral, Kitt considered the semantics of this command – was Michael speaking literally or figuratively? Applying his understanding of informal language to the situation at hand, he decided that reversing would be unnecessary. "Michael, please understand!" he pleaded. "I had to make sure you were safe."

"You nearly killed me!" Michael argued, slamming his palms down onto the warm metal. "I couldn't escape – it was like having a heat-seeking missile locked onto me!"

"I am programmed to protect you, Michael, not harm you," Kitt replied sadly. "I'm sorry if my approach was rather alarming, but I didn't want to lose sight of you again. Not after I failed you at the dam."

The agony of waiting there, inactive, still occupied his memory. Ten minutes spent calling for Michael, who couldn't hear him properly over the comlink anyway; then five point two minutes following the dreadful explosion, all the while fervently expecting Michael to crest the top of the dam and scale down the side to safety, before Kitt had called for medical assistance; another seventeen minutes until the ambulance finally arrived, and the paramedics had sprinted past the driverless black car to Michael's aid. Not knowing was the worst part – had Michael been hurt? How? Should Kitt have reacted faster, called for help sooner? What more could he do?

In the end, forty three minutes after watching his partner charge up the side of the concrete bank, Kitt had been forced to stand by while Michael was brought back down again, stretchered and unconscious. Automatically, instinctively, the computer had determined to stay with Michael, but the limitations of his programming were frustrating – without a direct command, he could not act autonomously. All that was left for him to do, now that Michael was on his way to hospital, was take the number of the ambulance, contact the Foundation, and wait.

It had taken the police an hour and forty minutes to send a tow truck for the black car abandoned at Bedford Dam, during which time Kitt was left to assume the worst. Impounded, he had thought of what it would be like to lose Michael, to fail him, but this permutation of events was beyond Kitt's powers of deduction – the man before him was Michael Knight, physically and chemically, and yet he was also lost to all who knew him.

"You were at the dam?" Michael asked quietly.

"I was with you, Michael," Kitt confirmed. "Are you beginning to remember?"

"I don't –" Michael looked down at the hood, glancing at his bare left wrist for the briefest instant. "I don't know you! Any of you!" he growled, straightening up. "Those two in there, trying to tell me I'm dead – you, trapping me and driving me here!"

"I have apologised for my chicanery, Michael," Kitt added quickly, sensing that Michael was about to walk away again, "but it was an emergency."

"You said I could trust you," he said levelly, staring at the scanner.

"You can, Michael," the computer promised, recalling with some shame how he had lured him into the driving seat. Michael's left leg had only just cleared the frame before Kitt slammed the door shut and locked him in.

"Then you said 'forgive me'," Michael prompted, raising his eyes. "Well, OK – you're a machine, they sent you after me. I guess I can forgive you. But now I'm walking out of here, alone. Got that?"

Michael turned, gingerly stowing his hands in pockets, and started walking. Programming instructed the computer to disregard that command and maintain visual contact, but it was friendship that sent Kitt trailing after his partner like a faithful dog.

***

"Leave me alone," he snapped, turning awkwardly to check on the progress of the car.

Kitt kept on, inching along at Michael's heels. The red light of his scanner swept back and forth, monitoring the pace of his partner's stride. He was ready to throw on the brakes or step on the gas, but he would not return to the Foundation alone.

"I'm coming with you, Michael," Kitt told him. "We're a team."

Michael stopped in his tracks, and the car did likewise, a bare inch behind Michael's legs. "Not anymore, we're not," he said, taking a step back. "Beat it!"

Kitt watched him walk backwards to the end of the drive, keeping his eyes on the scanner in a silent challenge, and then quickly turn and start down the road. Releasing the brake, Kitt dutifully followed in his wake.

He rounded the corner and observed Michael walking in the gutter, avoiding a mailman's cart that was blocking the sidewalk. Incredibly, instead of stepping back onto the path when he heard the rumble of Kitt's engine behind him, Michael started moving faster until he was almost marching along the side of the road. Kitt kept after him.

_Trying to outrun a car,_ he reflected; _he really does need help!_

Without looking back, Michael kicked into a higher gear, dragging his hands free of his pockets to pump his arms. Kitt quickly scanned Michael's vital signs, worried that such frantic sprinting would aggravate his existing injuries. This was folly! How could he convince him that he was acting alone, out of affection and not as part of a conspiracy?

Ignoring the startled mailman stood gawping at the kerbside, Kitt locked onto Michael's position ahead, holding the powerful car back to match his speed without scaring him. The two of them must have looked a strange sight, a man being chased by his runaway car, but Kitt was more concerned with what Michael was thinking – was he really so desperate to escape?

_Perhaps I should stop_, he thought; _pursuing him like this won't help him to remember, but could cause him to collapse._

Before Kitt could properly analyse the situation, Michael made the decision for him and scuffed to a halt. Locking his wheels, Kitt drew up beside him, not knowing why he had stopped or what response to expect. His programming skipped when Michael actually turned and reached for the driver's door, but he sensed from his partner's body language that nothing had changed.

"I'd tell you to get this through your head," Michael told the empty cabin, "but you're a machine, so run this through your data processor – get lost!"

Kitt registered Michael's choice of noun, but was not offended by the terminology – the Knight Industries Two Thousand was, technically, a machine, however superior to most cars and computers. Nor did he blame Michael for breaking the successful partnership they had forged over a year of close association and mutual dependency – losing data was a setback, but the damage could be repaired given time. Kitt's only regret was that Michael no longer trusted him.

"I can't do that, Michael," he said, sounding like the machine he was. "I'm programmed to respond to your needs. Despite your being unaware of it – you need me."

_And I need you, Michael_, he added internally. _Please remember me_.

"What if I don't want you?" Michael asked, unwittingly voicing Kitt's silent fear.

What, indeed? "I suppose I'll be quite hurt," he replied plainly.

Michael sank against the car, frowning at the dash. "Well," he sighed, "we wouldn't want that." Kitt noticed him glance at the tan lines on his wrist again. "So you say you're my car?"

"I would hardly expend this energy for a stranger," he said drily. "I'm your friend."

"It is pretty hard to get around without a set of wheels," Michael considered, tapping a finger on the roof panel. He lowered himself into the pilot bucket, holding the door open until his feet were safely resting on the carpet inside.

Kitt allowed him to close it at his convenience. He hardly dared to speak – having Michael inside the car again, especially after betraying his trust earlier in the day, would be a hollow victory if the man now surveying the dazzling controls was only interested in a 'set of wheels'. But it was a start in the right direction.

Michael placed his foot on the pedal. "I drive from here on," he said.

"Absolutely!" Kitt agreed readily, and switched the car to 'Normal cruise'. "On one condition," he added.

"What?" Michael asked, watching the fading light of the voice modulator. He settled easily into the pilot bucket, reaching for the controls that had been ergonomically designed around his specific measurements.

"Please do not refer to me as a 'set of wheels'," Kitt told him. "It's most demeaning. I am the Knight Industries Two Thousand," he explained proudly. "You always called me Kitt."

_I am the Knight Industries Two Thousand. K.I.T.T. for easy reference. Kitt, if you prefer. _Bonnie Barstow had programmed the basic introduction, announcing, reducing and familiarising the artificial intelligence in one short phrase, but the words meant so much more to Kitt himself. Distinct in his own awareness from the car, although the incredible capabilities of the Knight 2000 gave him a sense of self, he valued recognition. It had taken Michael months to overcome the embarrassment of driving a 'talking car' with pride in his unique partner, but they had finally reached an understanding. For Michael to acknowledge his presence and allow him to speak for himself in front of passengers was the greatest compliment Kitt could ever ask for. He wanted Michael to remember, to return to him, but Kitt was willing to prove his worth all over again.

"All right – Kitt," Michael agreed, slipping the gear lever into 'Drive', "let's see what you can do."

Spinning out from the kerb, his tires squealing, Kitt relinquished full control to his partner. He wanted Michael to feel the power of the car responding to his touch alone, not the input of the onboard systems. It was a small sacrifice to make. They were on a residential street in a quiet neighbourhood, but Michael was racing him, pedal to the floor, like it was the Comtron demolition derby in Millston all over again. Turning sharply, he threw them around 180° and blasted back up the road, in the general direction of the nervous postal worker. And Kitt found that he was enjoying the speed and the risk, but the fulfilment of having Michael back in the driving seat was the main attraction of this charged joyride.

He was back; _they _were back.

"What's this do?" Michael asked, pointing a finger at the right hand pod console.

_Turbo-boost_, Kitt thought; _trust him to find that button first!_ Yes, this was more like his partner. "Michael, I don't think you should –"

FIN


End file.
